


Spring, Summer, Autumn Winter

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-19
Updated: 2006-03-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 16:32:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12413835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: On the eve of her death, Hermione reflects on her past; the spring of her youth, the summer of her adult-hood, the autumn of her middle age, and the winter of her life. R/Hr & D/Hr





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

  
Author's notes: 1  


* * *

  
** Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter.  
** ****

 

Prologue.  


 

__ Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
** **

 

****

The withered old women stalked through the castle, ignoring the odd looks she was receiving from the students. She clutched a wand in her hand tightly, raising it at anyone who she thought slightly suspicious.

 

She was losing her mind. Ever since her son had died, Orsino, her sanity had been slowly diminishing with her old age.

 

She was the last connection to a dead world. Two hundred years had passed since she had been born, and every old friend of hers who’d lived at Hogwarts, her children had all passed on into the next world, leaving her behind.

 

Ron had gone first, dying of dragon pox when he was just fifty years old. Next had gone Harry already severely disabled and in the long term residence ward at Saint Mungo’s. He had suffered a stroke in the night, departing this world when he was one hundred and three. Then Ginny, her loyal and trusted friend, had fading away forty years ago. Finally Malfoy left her a widow, after suffering a stroke.

 

Hermione could sense her time coming. She had lived, surely, long enough. She had watched everyone she ever cared about die, filling her with pain, bitterness and anguish.

 

But she still had to keep a face on things. She was, after all, the Headmistress of Hogwarts, even if she no longer wished to be. She knew that the Governors probably wanted to remove her from office, but her position in the Wizarding world was too respected for that to happen, even if she was losing her grip. Hermione wasn’t so old that she didn’t know what was said about her behind her back. The students mocked her, laughing at her aged self, delighting in giggling about the way she walked, the way she spoke among other things.

 

She didn’t have the strength to reprimand them. She was too weak. Now, more then ever, it seemed to rich to die and poor to live, for she was sick of being stuck in this world she didn’t understand, with few true friends, few people she could rely upon. 

 

She rounded the corridor, grasping onto the walls to remain balanced before stopping in front of the tapestry. 

 

It had been made post-war, and had taken dozens of house elves and wizards years to sew, but now it was a beautiful piece of art, dedicated to the struggles over the years of the First and Second Wars. 

 

Hermione stared at it. It was a mirage of colours, silvers and blacks’ mixing against red’s and yellows. Her eyes, weary and fading from use, adjusted to the strange bursts of light.

 

She could see all her old friends, and old enemies. They had all gone from this world, leaving her with a wistful longing.  

 

She nibbled on her finger, the grand dress robes she always made sure she was bedecked in whispered against her shrunken skin. She looked like a wet piece of parchment, or a baby that had been kept in water too long. Her features had sunken into her head; her hair had faded to a dull white and would have hung lank and dead on her head if she hadn’t asked one of her attendees to regularly perform spells on it so it looked as vibrant and luxurious as the day of her marriage. 

 

‘Madame? Madame Granger?’

 

A crowd had gathered around her of students and professors alike, wondering what their Headmistress, who so rarely left the comfort of her bedchamber now except for work, was doing, standing and staring blankly at a wall hanging.

 

It didn’t occur to her that she’d been on her feet there for over seventeen hours now, and Hogwarts day had now drifted into Hogwarts night.

 

She stared at the same spot of the tapestry over and over again, ignoring the worried calls of the crowd around her. 

 

Through that same spot on the tapestry, she saw moments of her life flick by, the people she loved, which were few despite her two close friends, the man she had given her heart to but could never be with, her husband, and their child.

 

All dead.

 

The glitter of silver and red combined together brought forth images. She saw herself approaching the Sorting Hat, the feeling of hundreds of eyes upon her. She saw one of the many battles that had taken place at Hogwarts, herself desperately casting spells. The face of a giggling Ginny swam before her, followed by a solemn looking Harry, both in their teenage years. Then Ron, sweet Ron, floated past, recalling the day which she’d received her Order of Merlin, First Class. There had been hundreds of people there, that day, but she could pick him out of any crowd of thousands. He was smiling, and clothed in lilac dress robes. Finally, she saw her younger self, collapsing to the floor as she had done all those years ago after having a particularly ferocious row with Draco.

 

Hermione shut her eyes and reopened them again. Just as the people around her contemplated the strangeness of staring at a tapestry at two am, Hermione contemplated the seasons of her life. 

 

 

_Author’s Note [Or, quite literally, an advert for_ the Virgin Queen _and/or drabble]: I’ll be honest with you; I basically nicked this idea off_ the Virgin Queen. _I watched it when it was on the Beeb, and I bought the DVD and have practically holed upstairs watching it over and over again. There are so many amazing scenes in it, but always the most poignant and heartbreaking ones are when_ _Elizabeth_ _is reminded of the past. The sort of flashbacks when Robert died, and Lizzy imagined him approaching her, and in the last episode where there’s a musical performance and Bess sees a young couple joining hands, reminding her of when she and Robbie danced, and again when his last letter to her is constantly taken out, and finally, when she is dying, she sees all the people she ever loved flitting before her. I felt so emotional when I saw that, for Elizabeth herself was in her fifties to her seventies, but all these people who she_ last _saw as aged, live in her memory as they were in their prime. It sounds silly, but it made me swell up with emotion. I’ll shut up about_ the Virgin Queen _now*; I’m honestly not trying to sell it to you! Anyway, all of that made me want to write this; Hermione on her death bed, but living in the past.  
_ __

 

___* I would actually recommend it, thought. It’s full of fantastic acting, gorgeous men [one word, ladies: TOM HARDY] and is the best and most accurate adaptation of_ _Elizabeth_ _’s life I have ever seen. ‘Tis thoroughly enjoyable, even if you don’t like history. My brother_ hates _it when I rant about the past, but even he stayed locked in his room with me for four hours so he could watch it. There are some historical inaccuracies, but you can’t have everything._  



	2. Spring: Into Azkaban

Disclaimer: _I own nothing.  
_ __

 

__**** Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter  
_On the eve of her death, Hermione reflects on her past; the spring of her youth, the summer of her adult-hood, the autumn of her middle age, and the winter of her life.  
_ __

 

Chapter One: Into Azkaban.  


 

The wind howled against the stone of the dark fortress, sending a deep chill through the bones of the unlucky prisoners. In the absence of the Dementors’, hit wizards from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been hired to guard the people within Azkaban, as if they didn’t have enough to deal with already with Lord Voldemort and his band of Death Eaters’ continually spreading anarchy and disorder through Britain.

 

Hermione had been confined to one of the rooms on the uppermost floors of the prison. It was small, dingy and smelt slightly stale but it was the most comfortable room in the jail.  


 

She had been brought there two weeks ago, under lies. Hermione had been told that she was to greet an old friend of hers at the prison, someone who had been incarcerated and was to be set free, but instead they had locked herself, Tonks and Agnes Apollonius, a member of the Order, up.  


 

The Order of the Phoenix had been hiding Professor Snape, who the Ministry did not believe to be innocent of Dumbledore’s death, and had been on the look-out for him. Under the new and revised Dark Arts Act, anyone who was caught concealing ‘criminals’ were liable to be imprisoned without trial and could be executed, for the crime was taken as treason against the Ministry.  
Hermione, supposed, that they must of somehow seen her, Tonks and Agnes sneaking him out underneath an invisibility cloak so he might get some fresh air.  


 

On the morning of her departure into the dark world of tormented souls and maddened spirits that was Azkaban, Hermione had felt a horrid mix of foreboding and fear stir in her. It appeared she wasn’t as bad at Divination as she thought, for on the moment of her arrival her worst fears had come true.  


 

***  


 

Hermione, Agnes and Tonks climbed out of their boats and looked at the dark fortress looming above them. Its few windows seemed like eyes into the gateways of hell, and an unnatural shadow lay upon it. Hermione was sure it had been sunny when she’d left the Order’s underground Headquarters but now it seemed to rain with unceasing relish, and soon she was soaked to the bone.  


 

She shivered as she waited for the Azkaban guard to greet her. Agnes was praying underneath her breath, while Tonks looked up at the black sky with great interest, and sniffed.  


 

Finally, Hermione saw the shadow of a great, hulking man with twisted eyes, and a gross figure descend the steps in front of her, and begin stalking towards her. He said something, but Hermione couldn’t hear it over the roaring of the sea and the howling of the wind.  


 

‘Pardon?’ she half shouted.  


 

‘I said, that we are always glad to have folk from the Ministry here,’ he repeated.  


 

‘Why?’ asked Tonks, puzzled.  


 

Hermione rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t be silly, Tonks, he was being polite, weren’t you Mr…’  


 

‘Seymour. Mr. Seymour. I am head of this fortress here, and will be looking after you from now on.’  


 

Agnes’s praying stopped, and Hermione stilled. She had heard the hidden meaning behind his tone, and the knowing glint in Seymour’s eyes told Hermione it wasn’t unintentional.  


 

‘Sir, what do you mean when you say ‘‘from now on?’’ ’ said Hermione.  


 

‘I mean what I say, Ms. Granger. I understood the Ministry brought you here under false pretences; well let me be the first to enlighten you. In the name of the Ministry of Magic, you are under arrest for conspiring against the Minister, and for breaching clause seven, section c of the Dark Arts Act: _Any wizard or witch under suspicion of aiding, protecting and concealing those that the Ministry of Magic decree to be a dangerous or wicked citizen, may be confined for an unspecified amount of time without trial and will be treated forthwith as one who has committed high treason against the Ministry. Furthermore, their punishment –‘  
_ __

 

‘Yes, yes!’ Hermione snapped, ‘I am familiar with the Dark Arts Act!’  


 

‘A pity you didn’t follow it then, madam, for then you must know the punishments that can be mooted out following direct guiltiness of breaking the act,’ murmured Seymour.  


 

Agnes gulped. ‘Death.’  


 

‘Correct, Ms. Apollonius,’ said Seymour. ‘You, Ms Granger, and Ms. Tonks will be confined to the rooms that the fortress guards see fit for you during your stay here. Although under suspicion of crimes, you are not, as you are Ministry employees and well-known for your work against the Dark Arts, to be treated like the other prisoners; your rooms will be the fortress’s most luxurious and you will be granted use of the bathing chambers. You must, however, submit your wands now.’  


 

‘Submit my wand?’ scoffed Hermione, ‘Why, pray? What have I done? Where is the proof, Sir?’ Her temper was getting the better of her. She had patiently listened to Seymour’s words, and now was letting their venom get the better of her. Maybe she had broken the law, but her cause was just. It was the Ministry who were in the wrong, not her.  


 

‘Madam,’ said Seymour, towering over her, ‘You must submit your wand, or I will wrench it from you and break it.’  


 

Hermione’s lip curled in contempt. ‘I’d like to see you try. I’m a loyal worker at the Ministry of Magic, I have ever followed their laws, and I have ever worked tirelessly for their cause against the Dark Arts! And yet, this is how they repay me. An errand to Azkaban which has turned into imprisonment for God knows how long!’  


 

‘Madame, I follow only the Ministry’s will, and it is not my fault you are here. You have only yourself to blame for this, so I would advise you to hurry lest we are caught in the true ravages of the storm.’ Seymour glanced to the wild, heaving waters around them. ‘It gets very rough around here at night, very cold and very wet, even more so then day. We must go inside and show you to your chamber, or we shall catch our death out here.’  


 

‘I am not going anywhere in there with you, not when I have done nothing wrong!’ said Hermione stubbornly.  


 

She returned Seymour’s glare staunchly, but dropped her gaze when she felt Agnes’s hand on her arm.  


 

‘Child, we must go with them. We will plead our case with the Ministry, but we cannot stay outside, arguing, like this. Tonks’s a state as it is.’ Hermione glanced at Tonks, who she had not paid attention to during the proceedings, and was alarmed to see that she was trembling and her teeth were chattering.  


 

Hermione nodded resignedly. ‘Very well, Aggy. But I do this to submit to you, not to them.’  


 

She drew her hand inside her robes, and produced her wand. Agnes and Tonks mimicked her, and Seymour immediately took them.  


 

‘Glad that there’s some sense in that bushy head of yours,’ taunted Seymour.  


 

Hermione’s stiffened at the insult. ‘Well, one of us must have sense, Sir, and it is clear to me it isn’t going to be you.’  


 

Her reply went unnoticed, for Seymour was already stalking back up the steps. Hermione wondered why he didn’t think they would Apparate anyway, but Agnes, as if sensing her direction of thought, shook her head.  


 

‘You can’t Apparate or Disapparate here, sweetums. There’s a jinx on this place.’  


 

‘So, our only way’s in?’ asked Hermione.  


 

‘Our only way’s in,’ repeated Agnes.  


 

Hermione smile was grim, as she followed the hulking figure of Seymour up the staircase, and thus into the prison.  


 

***  


 

Hermione, on her way up, had seen numerous prisoner’s in the throes of pain, being tortured for whatever ‘crimes’ they had committed. Their screams and moans of pain filled the corridors, and Hermione felt herself running mad just with the sound of them. Their rooms consisted of a small cell, covered in a formation of bars both across and vertical, allowing squares which could fit but a broad hand in. Hermione noticed that the luckier ones slept on hay, and had a seat and candle, while the more unfortunate ones were bound in chains, and slept on the cold, hard ground.  


 

When Hermione had been shown to her room, Seymour had shoved her roughly into it before making to close the door, but Hermione had stopped him.  


 

‘I beseech you, listen to me,’ said Hermione. ‘I am brought here, as are Agnes and Tonks, without evidence and without any outward shows of evilness. I tell you, Mr. Seymour, I am innocent of the charges against me, and if there ever was a crime I have committed it was for trusting the Ministry too much.’  


 

‘Pretty words from a pretty girl,’ sneered Seymour, ‘but I wonder how pretty you’ll be for much longer. Azkaban has a way of sucking people’s looks. Gaze well into your mirror now, Madam, for it could be the last time you look into it and see pretty pink lips and pretty dark eyes, for even as quick as tomorrow, those eyes can sink into their sockets, and those lips crust over.’ He laughed heartily at the shocked look on Hermione’s face before slamming the door and locking it.  


 

Agnes strode over and embraced her in a hug, while Tonks stroked her hair. ‘It’s alright, Hermy, everything’s going to be fine.’  


 

‘How?’ said Hermione, burrowing her head into Agnes’s grey hair.  


 

‘We shall see,’ replied Agnes.  


 

***  


 

Hermione hunched against the bed, snuggling against Agnes and Tonks for warmth. They had been given a double bed to share, but two grown women and a girl in her late teens could barely fit in it, and Hermione was left on the end, clutching the thin cover that was meant to keep them warm. Beside her, Tonks was murmuring in her sleep, her natural brown hair fanning against her face. Hermione had seen a definite change in the normally cheery Tonks since their stay at Azkaban; she had become unhappy and quiet.  


 

It was just so frustrating, Hermione thought. She should be out there, helping Ron and Harry find the Horcruxes, and bringing about an end to Lord Voldemort’s power; instead, she was shoved into a prison, full of his followers and about as far away from the action as she could get.  


 

Sighing, she rose and moved across the small room to stare out of the window. She was lucky there was glass between her and the outside wall, for most prisoners, if they had a ‘window’ in there room, had an arched whole, with nothing blocking it from the elements outside.  


 

The grey of the North Sea stretched as far as the eye could see, and Hermione wondered how far London was from there. Could she swim to the city? Sirius Black had done it, but she doubted she could, wandless and in her human form.  


 

A banging on the door interrupted her thoughts, and made her leap up. It crashed open, and in came Seymour, carrying a torch.  


 

‘You’re up I see. Good! There are four fellows from the Ministry that want to speak to you. Make yourself presentable, and be outside to accompany me there in five minutes. Ms. Granger’s to be questioned first, then Ms. Tonks then you.’ He nodded to Agnes.  


 

He left, and waited outside the room while Hermione hurried to get changed. She fretted over what to wear; Agnes had convinced her that It mattered greatly which she chose to dress herself in, for it would reflect upon her mood.  


 

Eventually, she stuffed Hermione into a dark ensemble; a black knee-length skirt, black tights, black pumps, black shirt, but with a white robe atop, signifying innocence.  


 

Hermione surveyed her appearance before smiling grimly. ‘Finally, after two weeks in this dump we’ll be able to plead our case to the Ministry. I mean, so what if we _were_ helping –’  


 

‘Hush!’ hissed Tonks. ‘You never know who might be listening.’  


 

Hermione nodded, aware she’d just come very close to revealing her involvement with Professor Snape.  


 

‘Are you done yet?!’ growled Seymour from outside.  


 

Hermione breathed deeply, before opening the door. ‘I am ready.’  


 

***  


 

_Author’s note: I won’t ramble about_ the Virgin Queen, _now, I promise you. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Originally, a lot of this was meant for one of my other stories,_ Roses _, but I don’t know where that’s going to be honest, and the plot’s not the best, so I used some of it here instead.  
_ _I’m beginning my new school term, tomorrow, so I won’t be able to update as much. I planned to do loads of writing this half-term, but I generally started on loads of stories, and couldn’t be bothered to finish them!  
_ __

 

___As always, reviews are appreciated.  
_ __

 

___xx_  
                                                                      


 

  



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